


Enough Said

by TwistedWillows



Series: Hetalia: Moments in History [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Death, Gen, It's Going Well, Prussia is upset, Russia just wants to make egg pie, but not really, why am i like this, why is all of my writing specific and repressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:57:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18004214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedWillows/pseuds/TwistedWillows
Summary: A small conversation between the Soviet Union and the former nation of Prussia in a snow-covered kitchen in 1951.





	Enough Said

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God, she lives?? 
> 
> Hello! Yes, believe it or not I am in fact alive. ^^' I've been dying to post more but ahh the life of a university student; I have no time ;-; anyway, here we are again with yet another Hetalia fic which will inevitably be full of pain and angst. In Russia this time! 
> 
> The premise here is that after the dissolution of Prussia and the separation of Prussian territories among the allies, Prussia kind of just ends up at Russia's place to play the waiting game until he, too, like the Great Roman Empire, will fade away into memory. 
> 
> Only Ru/Pru if you squint. I guess the Ru/Pru element is more about what's _not_ stated here (like everything I've ever written ever, hhh)- why is Gilbert there in the first place, for example.  
> If you hate how angsty this is, well. Have you seen part I?

Ivan’s house was small and warm, nestled on a grassy mound under a fir tree in a valley covered by snow. Ivan's house was familiar, like something out of a storybook with its coloured glass windows that cast lights on the floor. Ivan's house was lonely, a single wooden dot in a sea of endless rolling hills and fresh, undisturbed snow. Ivan’s house was not, however, quiet. Outside, the blustering storm winds groaned like the sighs of a lumbering giant and the tree branches click-clacked together. Inside, the wood crackled and popped in the fire. A radio was playing in the parlour, a man’s ancient voice reciting children’s stories in a voice which somehow reminded Gilbert of William. *  
Frost tendrils painted white reliefs on the windows- vague outlines in the shape of little mittens and painted eggs and children playing in the snow. Gilbert traced them slowly with his eyes as he wandered aimlessly around the kitchen with his bare feet, slippers long abandoned (to the chagrin of his host,) who worked at the counter behind him in silence.  
Gilbert wasn’t sure what time it was. The dark, heavy clouds had been around for as long as he could remember. Or perhaps he just didn’t notice the sun anymore. Ivan would know the time if Gilbert cared to ask. He doesn’t, so they don’t speak. Oddly, it’s neither uncomfortable nor comfortable. That seems to be their existence, the two of them, an odd couple if ever there was one.  
To think only a handful of years prior they were willing to kill each other over ownership of Silesia. Now he sits in Ivan’s farmhouse with dull eyes, staring placidly out at the fields he once marched over like the god of a new kingdom. 

“It’s snowing again,” he said. Ivan just shrugged and looked at him helplessly, as if this fact were something so natural that he could say nothing at all in retort, even had he known what exactly Gilbert was looking for. Excitement? Reassurance?  
“It snows very often in my home.” Gilbert nodded. His eyes didn’t move from the window. Ivan watched him for a moment, gave the sifter a final tap and set it down on the counter. He walked slowly away from the half-finished pie crust, wiping his hands as he passed the towel rack and letting them come to rest, gently, on Gilbert’s shoulders as the man stared, entranced, at the swirling haze outside the window.  
“There’s so much. How do you leave?” Ivan shrugged.  
“You don’t, not often. Winter time is slow, yes? Not many things happen in winter. Winter is the time to stay home, make warm food.” He gestured to his array of cooking supplies. “Come help me now. We will make something warm, maybe watch a program.” Gilbert turned those eyes to Ivan, something blank and absent. Ivan stared evenly back at him. “Come now.” He said. Gilbert thought, nodded, plodded across the floorboards on sticky feet and came to stand at Ivan’s elbow.  
“ _Вот_.” One flour-covered hand passed a wooden rolling pin to another one. In complete silence, the two of them worked. The heat from the gas stove radiated and warmed the sides of Gilbert’s calves. The electric light flickered overhead as the storm winds buffeted the house. Eventually, Ivan turned it off, instead lighting two gas lanterns, which he set gingerly on either side of the countertop. The wind roared outside. The light seemed… small. Gilbert felt his eyes straining as he watched Ivan work.  
“There’s no sugar.” He blurted, suddenly. Then he shut his mouth again. Ivan looked up at him in mild surprise. Well. If the slight change from both eyebrows down to one eyebrow raised slightly more than a centimeter above the other meant surprise.  
“No.” Said Ivan. Gilbert watched as he placed a small head of cabbage on the counter.  
“It is war. Hard to get sugar now.” Gilbert frowned.  
“Why are you making a pie without fruit?”  
“This?” Ivan laughed like a lumbering bear and sent the knife solidly through the head of the cabbage. “This is cabbage pie. It is very good. Popular here. I hope that you will like it.”  
“Oh.” For a moment, Gilbert watched those massive hands.  
“I know you do not have this in Germany. But you have many other foods which seem very tasty.” Ivan dumps the chopped cabbage into a bowl, begins slicing the other half. “You will have to teach me these recipes, before,” The two men locked eyes. Fire burning behind red irises. The cool of an untouched winter snow.  
“Before I leave?” Gilbert ground out. Ivan nodded.  
“Yes. Before you… leave.” After a long moment, Gilbert nodded.  
“Okay.” He said. Ivan did not reply.


End file.
